Insurrection
by RoadWild
Summary: Dying over and over again isn't exactly conducive for your mental health. Instead of Salem breaking, Ozma broke. (Massive AU)


The village was quiet at the dead of night. There was no nightguard, no sentries, not even a wall to keep out bandits, for there were none. The lack of any sort of precaution meant there was nobody awake to witness the troupe of Grimm bound into the village square. The strange, almost unnatural, deer-like Grimm were the size of adult Elks, complete with antlers honed until they were capable of piercing the strongest Auras. This small force was led by one massive specimen, typically called a Legion Grimm, signifying this mission's personal approval by Queen Salem.

The pack fanned out, surrounding their target. The leader waited until confirmation that it's pack was in position arrived, and then stomped loudly three times. The sound rung throughout the village, though nobody, save one, awoke.

Ozma's eyes burst open. There was a brief moment where his body felt immeasurable panic and fear, but Ozma tamped it down. He had suspected that he had been identified and had already made the necessary preparations. All he could do now was buy his agents time.

Each step he took while getting dressed felt as if he was lifting the weight of the world on each foot, the body's original owner recognizing its end was near. Though the original soul had been shackled for what felt like decades, it still felt a conscious desire to remain alive. Once again, Ozma tamped it down. The moments before his death would be crucial.

His cane, The Long Memory, had been destroyed long ago, in one of the few rebellions he had been able to cause. That had been one of the better lives, this time managing to bring about armed insurrection instead of peaceful protest or leveraging contacts. Now in later iterations he defaulted to using a common greatsword, but often reverted to using a quarterstaff when uncomfortable. As Ozma walked outside his front door, he bid farewell to this body's life. Nonchalantly, he swung his sword onto his shoulder, ignoring the small bite of pain. It wasn't like it would matter later.

The Legion Grimm regarded Ozma coldly, its lifeless eyes gleaming under the shattered moon. It sniffed him, before stomping its foot once more. Then, a magical image of Salem appeared on the Legion Grimm's head, standing in between massive antlers, staring coldly down on Ozma. Her voice commanding, Salem decreed, "Ozma Nameless. For your crimes against Salem and the Kingdom you have been sentenced to death. Go to hell."

Laughing, Ozma beckoned the Grimm closer. "Oh Salem, you know if I could die, I would have done it _long_ ago. Let's get this charade over with."

The fight between Grimm and Man was short, punctuated with the occasional grunt and clash between steel and bone. The night grew darker, broken only by brief flashes of white light when Ozma was struck. Weaker, younger Grimm were slain, until at last, Ozma was gored by multiple antlers at once. With both of his lungs completely lacerated, Ozma couldn't even utter his last words. Without fuss or abandon, Ozma's soul left the body. Then, the original soul's owner returned. Gasping and screaming in equal parts rage and grief, the impaled man began to shake. Darkness began to cover his vision, and the man felt tears building at the corner of his eyes. After his soul being shackled for more than three years, this was how he was going to die.

Just before his consciousness ebbed away, there was a blast of light. Awareness shook the man, the haze clearing from his mind while the Grimm backed off. He looked down and gasped when he saw his wounds healing. When he looked up, he was even more shocked to see Queen Salem standing in front of him. Sputtering, the man tried to bow. "My-my queen! He-Ozma-I swear-"

Queen Salem waved a hand, cutting him off. Her eyes was squinted in concentration, hoping for a glimpse of where Ozma's soul went. Unfortunately, it was a bust. Salem clicked her tongue, before coolly regarding Ozma's previous host. Realizing the man's haggard appearance was through no fault of his own, Salem's eyes softened. "You. You were that monster's previous host, yes?"

At the man's scared affirmative, Salem continued. "I must apologize for how long it took for us to free you. I understand that having that man in your life is very unpleasant. Ozma was always slippery and this village is hardly a high-surveillance area."

"He-he took my life from me." The man began to cry, feeling the weight of three years' worth of decisions resting on him. "I tried to fight back but he would just take control while I slept. I-the _things _in his mind will always haunt me. I'm so sorry-I don't want to live in this world anymore, while _that_ man still lives."

Salem hummed softly, carefully regarding the man in front of her. He was on the edge, capable of collapsing at any moment. She sympathized, truly. Ozma had brought her close to the edge many times over the course of her long life. Whether it was the assassination of trusted friends or sabotaging institutions she had personally begun, Ozma's little _cabal_ reached lengths she herself had not fathomed. Thus, she felt a strange strange kinship with the man whose life had been ruined. She pondered for a moment more, bringing back memories of fire and failure, but made her decision. The surviving Grimm converged on Salem, but she still held the man's gaze. A Nevermore swooped down from above, large enough to carry her and several other people. Salem stepped on but gestured towards the man. "Follow me. You can help more people. What's your name?"

The man followed, for nobody disobeyed their queen. Still very shocked, the man mumbled his answer.

"Hazel. Hazel Rainart."

* * *

A long distance away, in a small sleepy village called Kuroyuri, a pink-eyed man gasped awake.

He was no longer alone.


End file.
